We locked eyes.
“You wanna help me? Then I need ya to do me a favor.”
Mason didn’t bat one eye when I asked him for his uniform. He was fully aware of why I needed it. I think it was his way of thanking me for bringing his sister back home. This was the only way I could get past security and anyone else who stood in my way. After we exchanged clothes, he took off saying he’d be back later. Something about needing to go find Giselle, she’d been ignoring his calls since he came home. He was going to drive over to her apartment and tell her Mia had been found.
Shortly after midnight, I walked through the double doors of the hospital like a man on a fucking mission. Praying I could pull it off and see my girl. I spent hours outside waiting for the right moment, hiding in the fucking shadows watching people come and go. Eventually spotting Mia’s dad leaving just after eleven-thirty. Minus Detective McGraw. When he got into his car and sped off, I knew I didn’t have much time.
But it was now or never.
I walked in like I knew where I was going. Hanging my head, hiding under the brim of Mason’s military hat as I made my way down the now dim hallway. Heading straight toward Mia’s room. There were three police officers right outside her door, just as I expected there would be. McGraw’s back was turned to me, talking to one of the cops by the nurse’s station. I approached with caution, my heart beating out of my fucking chest the closer I got to see her. I saw McGraw abruptly turn out the corner of my eye as I passed by.
“Hey, Mason,” he called out.
I didn’t stop. I didn’t turn. I just raised my hand, making sure the cuff on his crew was pulled down past the tattoos on my hand. Giving him a wave as I approached the guards.
Nodding to them before I reached for the handle and quickly walked into the room, closing the door behind me.
“Shit,” I groaned, faltering against the door. Even through the soft lighting of the hospital room, I could still see Mia’s mom sitting beside her on the bed, holding onto Mia’s hand.
Not saying a word, she eyed me up and down, taking in Mason’s military fatigues and badge. Letting out a loud, long breath when she was done.
I removed my hat, giving her the only respect I could. “No disrespect, ma’am. I just wanna see her and make sure she’s all right,” I coaxed, needing her to know.
She glanced back down at Mia who was hooked up to all sorts of machines. I recognized some of them which were similar to what Doc had used. Though most I didn’t know what the fuck they were for. She stood, wiping the tears from her cheeks with a tissue, and adjusted Mia’s blankets to tuck her in. Reminding me how she came from such a loving family. Breaking my heart even more that I was also responsible for this woman’s pain. She leaned over and placed a kiss on her daughter’s forehead, murmuring something in her ear I couldn’t make out.
“You got twenty minutes,” her mom whispered, peering up at me, catching me completely off guard. Never expecting her to say that. “I need some coffee.” With that, I moved away from the door, letting her pass by.
I walked over to Mia and stood at the foot of her bed. Watching my world, my girl, my life, fight for hers.
“She hasn’t woken up yet, but the doctors think that she’s going to be just fine. Physically that is… the rest will take time to heal,” she shared, bringing my attention back to her. She was almost the spitting image of Mia, except for the brown eyes. “Mia has always been a very happy girl, and it breaks my heart that losing her baby… that… this…” Her eyes welled up with tears, struggling to keep going. “But Mia’s a fighter. She’s always been this stubborn, strong-willed, determined girl. Even as a baby there was no telling her no. If Mia put her mind to something then she would do it. I know she will get through this, we all will. Even her father.”
“Why are you lettin’ me stay?” I questioned, yearning to know.
“Because if my son can you give you the benefit of the doubt then I can, too. But please do me a favor. Be gone before I get back.”
I nodded as she turned around and left.
The beeping sound of Mia’s heart monitor brought my eyes back to her. The rhythmic hissing sound of the ventilator echoed all around me. Filling me with some sort of hope. I pulled up a chair next to her bed to get a closer look at her beautiful face. Reaching for her hand, I lifted it and placed it in my tight grasp. Hoping that she could feel my presence, my heart, and my love for her.
I leaned forward, bowing my head in shame over her broken, bruised, cut up body. Laying my forehead on our joined hands. Needing to feel her soft skin against mine, I kissed along her pulse.
It felt like only seconds had gone by, but my time was starting to run out with her. I didn’t know when I would be able to see her again.
Hold her.
Feel her.
Love her.
“I’m so fuckin’ sorry, Pippin,” I choked out, praying she could hear me.
She could feel me.
She could possibly still love me.
Her hand stirred, and I immediately looked up, narrowing my eyes. I was so fucking exhausted, I couldn’t even see straight. I blinked away the haze, thinking my mind was playing tricks on me, but it wasn’t. Big, bright blue eyes stared back at me, void of any reaction. Dazed and confused. She searched my face for I don’t know how long before she blinked, showing me she was really awake. As if she could read my mind.
“Oh my god, baby, you’re awake.” I jumped out of my seat, getting close to her face just so I could feel my lips against her skin. “Jesus Christ, Pippin… I love you so fuckin’ much… I’m so fuckin’ sorry, babe. I’ll do whatever it takes… please… please… fuckin’ forgive me...” I urged, kissing all over her face. Unable to get enough of her. Wanting her to feel my love, hear the sincerity in my voice. The desperation in my touch. So fucking thankful she was awake.
I leaned back, taking her face in my hands to look into her eyes. Ready to get on my knees and beg her for forgiveness. Do whatever it took to make her mine again.
Her eyes widened and her skin suddenly paled, making my heart suddenly drop.
“Fuck… baby, you okay? Tell me you’re okay…”
She stared right into my eyes and softly muttered,
“Who are you?”
EIGHTEEN
*Mia*
“Mia is experiencing situation-specific amnesia. It’s a psychogenic amnesia that can occur in distressed patients as a result of a severely stressful situation they have experienced. It can also be brought on by post-traumatic stress disorder. In her case, we think it’s the result of being shot in the back and/or losing the baby. She has no recollection of either incident, the shootout or even being pregnant, to begin with. It could also possibly stem from what she saw while being held captive. At this point, it could be a number of different factors. Although, like I said before, her body has no trauma other than the bullet wound and the incision from the emergency C-section that was performed. Her mind shut down to protect itself. As far as I can tell, there were no signs of negligence nor physical or sexual abuse.”
The doctor’s words played over and over in my mind, set on repeat with no end in sight.
According to the therapist I met with at the hospital, the violent experiences I endured caused my brain to go into emotional shock. My head was hoarding said traumatic events as a way to protect my mind from itself. As far as I knew, nothing ever happened. The potentially harmful memories were blocked out. Stuck in the unconscious purgatory of my brain where they would remain until I was willing to free them.
What if I didn’t want to free them?
I knew I was Mia Ryder, daughter of Lucas and Alexandra Ryder. Sister of Mason and Bo Ryder. My memory wasn’t completely lost. There were some key moments I still recalled, like the first time I rode a bike and my first day of preschool. Even the time I jumped into the pool and landed wrong, fracturing my arm. But I couldn’t remember what my favorite food was, or my favorite color, or the first time I was even kissed. It
was as if there were holes in my memory… I knew where I lived, but not what my room looked like. I recognized my uncles, aunts, and cousins, but confused their names.
The list of what I did and didn’t remember grew with each passing day. It was an endless scroll of paper I couldn’t keep up with.
We hadn’t discussed the bullet wound in my back or the scar from my pregnancy. I was told that I was missing for several months, but no one bothered to talk about the details or mention how I was found. Everything remained a mystery that I was too exhausted to solve. We also didn’t talk about the man who got kicked out of my hospital room by my Uncle Dylan after I woke up.
Nothing.
Maybe it was because I hadn’t asked, or it could have been that they didn’t want to divulge the truth. I figured it was probably a little bit of both. My therapy sessions were starting in a week, and I assumed the truth would eventually reveal itself behind those closed doors.
To be honest…
It was just another thing I didn’t want to know. If my mind blocked out the traumatic memories, why would I want to remember them? It would only lead to more harm for me and my family.
It was so overwhelming not knowing who I was, how I was supposed to act, what to say and not to say. Especially when everyone around me looked at me with such fondness and love. They waited months for me to be found, never giving up hope that I was alive. And I couldn’t even remember I was missing to begin with. No amount of words could describe how deeply it hurt my heart to see the struggle in my family’s eyes. Looking at me, desperately searching for the girl they anxiously prayed for to return.
Mia Ryder.
The exact same girl…
I prayed would never be found.
The day had come to lay my baby girl to rest, an event that no parent should ever have to endure, but here I was doing exactly that. The only difference was I didn’t feel the tragedy like most would. I spent the whole morning laying in bed, blankly staring at the ceiling, conjuring up excuses to why I wouldn’t be able to attend the funeral.
What was wrong with me? Was I always this heartless? Why couldn’t I mourn my baby?
One question after another plagued my mind till I found myself out of bed. Standing in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, in nothing but my bra and panties. Lightly tracing my finger along my C-section scar. Lazily tilting my head to the side, watching the motion through my reflection. While a voice in the back of my head screamed at me to dig deep, try to push through the murky waters separating me from the truth.
It was like I was having an out of body experience. A battle between the conscious me and the unconscious me. I watched from afar as a girl who looked like me stood there in a trance-like state. Going through the motions of life, feeling absolutely nothing but guilt that she couldn’t remember her own flesh and blood.
Then there was me, yelling at my conscious self to snap out of it. Willing her to remember what she once loved more than anything in this world. Breathing life into her to feel, to mourn. To honor a life that was so cruelly ripped away from her. Trying to break through the wall my own mind built, so I could feel whole again.
And not this girl who didn’t feel anything at all.
“You ready, sweetheart?” Mom asked in a gentle lull, walking up behind me later that morning.
I was once again standing there, staring at myself in the full-length mirror in my room, only this time I was clothed. Taking in the black dress and cardigan I was wearing, along with a pair of black heels I had slipped on to complete my outfit for the funeral. My dark hair was down, cascading along the sides of my pale face, a face I no longer recognized. My once bright blue eyes were now empty of any life. They held no emotion. They were just dark pools, hollow caves staring back at us.
You’d think that would be enough of an answer for her.
It wasn’t.
It never was.
Not for any of them.
I didn’t answer her question, preferring to stay silent instead. I wasn’t ready. I would never be ready for this. I learned rather quickly, once I was released from the hospital a few days after I woke up. It was better to just stay quiet and not say anything than to say something wrong.
She gazed at my reflection in the mirror with the same familiar longing I’d come to expect. She hesitantly reached up to sweep my hair back away from my face, placing the loose strands behind my ears. Wanting to get a better look at her broken daughter. Not grasping the fact that I was intentionally trying to hide.
“You look beautiful, Mia Pia,” she whispered, silently hoping the term of endearment would stir a memory inside of me.
It didn’t.
My whole family did this, more times than I cared to count. Thinking it would jolt my memories free from the black hole in my brain. All it did was the exact opposite, making me feel more frustrated and alone.
“Thank you,” I simply stated, turning my face away to avoid the disappointment in her eyes.
“No matter what. I’m always here for you. Please tell me you know that, sweetie?”
I nodded, knowing she was being sincere.
She spun me to face her, taking hold of my chin to make me look at her. “You don’t have to do this. No one expects you to be there if you can’t, Mia. The last thing we want is to cause you any more distress.”
“If that were the case, all of you would have to stop looking at me or talking to me,” I blurted, regretting my words immediately. Causing her to jerk back and let go. “I’m sorry, Momma, that wasn’t fair.”
“I know…” she paused taking a deep breath, her eyes welling up with tears. “It’s only been a week since you were discharged from the hospital. This whole situation is new for all of us. We are learning together how to cope. I look at you and see my daughter, the Mia I remember… the happy little spitfire, the one I know will come back to us. It’s just going to take some time. I’m doing the best I can as your mother to protect you, help you get over this hurdle life pushed in your path. We need to take this one day at a time, sweetheart. I’m just so thankful you’re home.” She pulled me into a tight hug. “I love you, baby. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.”
She whispered all sorts of reassuring things to me before we left my bedroom together. I barely remember any of it, choosing to tune her out. It was easier than pretending to be someone I no longer was. My dad was waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs, taking me into his arms when we reached him. Holding onto me for dear life before pulling away and kissing my cheek. Not saying a word as he gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. He escorted me out to the town car, never once letting go of my hand as if he was terrified I’d disappear again.
I blankly stared out the window the entire drive, watching cars blur by. The rain coming down from the heavens, mimicking the tears I knew I’d shed. It felt like all I did was blink and I was walking up to my baby’s closed casket at the front of the church. Feeling random arms wrapping me in their embrace, offering condolences I didn’t want to hear. While tears streamed down their faces, breaking down, bringing me right along with them. I couldn’t tell if I was mourning the death of the baby I knew nothing about, or if it was just the whole situation becoming too much for my emotions to overcome.
It was one thing right after the other.
I blinked a few more times, going through the motions when I suddenly felt the cool wood of the pew hit my skin as I sat between Mason and Bo for the service. My parents’ sat to our right, my mom breaking down in my dad’s arms. My aunts, uncles, and cousins filled the rows behind us.
I looked around noticing some unfamiliar faces scattered throughout the church. I assumed they were extended family or close friends of my parents’. I just didn’t recognize them. My eyes continued to roam while the priest went on about the baby going up to the good Lord. Reading verse after verse from his Bible, muffling the sounds of the sobs echoing off the vaulted ceiling.
I continued looking around the open spac
e when a woman dressed in all black, sitting in the last pew on the opposite side of the church, caught my attention. She was the furthest away from us as if she was trying to blend in or hide. Sitting by herself with what looked like a rosary in her grasp, her head bowed like she was deep in prayer. At one point she looked over at me with tears streaming down her face, giving me a slight smile. I wasn’t sure who she was, but something about her presence gave me a strange sense of comfort. I made a mental note to ask my mom who she was after the funeral.
For most of the service I sat there in a trance-like state, feeling as though my entire family’s eyes were focused solely on me.
Waiting for I don’t know what to happen.
My parents’ kept the service small, not wanting to overwhelm me. They had yet to understand that anything and everything overwhelmed me, no matter how big or small. During one of the readings the priest quoted Helen Keller, “The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart.” For some reason, his words pulled at my core and brought tears to my eyes. I needed to get some air. I was suffocating in a sea of everyone else’s despair, about to drown in my own. I excused myself to use the restroom, holding back the tears that threatened at the surface. Surprised when no one followed me out, but grateful nonetheless.
I made my way outside instead, craving to feel the sunshine on my face and the fresh air in my lungs. It seemed to be the only things that calmed me these days.
I pushed through the heavy wooden doors, hearing a loud thud on the other side. Followed by a man’s voice, rasping, “Oh, shit.”
Blocking out the sun with the back of my hand, I immediately looked up, blurting, “I’m so sor—” His eyes bared into mine, rendering me speechless. Locking me in place, I couldn’t move even if I wanted to, and for the first time since seeing yet another unfamiliar face, I didn’t want to.
His tall, muscular body towered over my small frame, looking down at me with the same longing in his solemn expression that my family wore every day. There was something about him, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from. A magnetic pull I was instantly drawn to.